


Holy Moly, Me Oh My

by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee



Series: True Love or Something [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5 Things, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Halloween, M/M, New Year's Eve, all the fluff okay, plus one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 07:59:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8836675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee/pseuds/DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee
Summary: "I should head back home...” Lance sighs, “but it's cold outside...""Borrow a scarf.""Keith. You beautiful, dumb tomato.""Why am I a tomato?""When someone says 'I should head back but...insert lame excuse here' they typically don't want to actually leave.""Lance, would you like to stay the night since apparently the three feet from my door to yours is so unbearably cold despite it only being September that you cannot contemplate going outside?""Why yes, Keith, I would,” Five times Keith didn't get it and one time he did.





	

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU FOR YOUR COMMENTS, THEY GIVE ME LIFE.
> 
> Really though, I'm sick and grumpy right now and your comments make my day so much better, you have no idea.
> 
> This fic does reference the previous fic from this series 'That Song From Tetris, Right?' but you don't really need to read that one to get this one. Just know that Lance's family is heavily involved in the Nutcracker and he and Keith get conned into helping with costumes.

**Holy Moly, Me Oh My**

  1. August



            “WHAT TEAM?” Lance comes bounding through Keith’s front door, already shouting.

            Keith looks up from the script he’d been reading, one eyebrow raised, “What sport are we talking about?”

            Lance stops his jumping around to stare at him incredulously. “What…? Have you… _you’ve never seen High School Musical._ ”

            Keith rolls his eyes, “I’ve seen plenty of musicals, Lance. Some of them even had high schoolers in them.”

            Lance rolls his eyes right back at him, “But you’re never seen _High School Musical_. You know, the Disney Channel sensation that defined a generation?”

            “Did you come up with that catchphrase on your own?” Keith shakes his head; dislodging a pencil he’d stuck in his haphazardly tied back hair, “Never mind. What’s the big deal with this ‘High School Musical’?”

            “‘What’s the big deal’ he says,” Lance scoffs, “‘High-School-Musical-with-audible-air-quotes’, he says.”

            “I didn’t actually _say_ the quotation marks.”

            “But you were thinking them!”

            “I’ll admit to that.”

            Lance sighs dramatically, “That’s it, we’re watching High School Musical. Drop what you’re doing and scoot over or I’m sitting on you.”

            Keith makes a microscopic amount of effort to move over and smirks internally when Lance rolls his eyes and just sprawls on top of him, remote in hand. Keith snakes an arm around Lance’s middle to hold him in place as Lance waves the remote at the tv, still babbling. “This is like the ultimate Disney musical high school comedy.”

            “That’s way too many genres,” Keith grumbles half-heartedly, “Clearly I wasn’t missing much the years I didn’t have cable.”

            “Shush, you. My sisters were addicted to this. We watched it maybe a million times.”

            “A _million_ times?” Keith is skeptical.  

            “Ballpark estimate. Now shush, it’s starting.”

 

~One hour later~

 

            “Oh my god, Pidge, this is the funniest thing ever. I’ve created a monster,” Lance whispers into the phone

            “What the fuck did you do, Lance? Why do I hear yelling?”

            “That would be Keith,” Lance cackles slightly, “Turns out High School Musical is not an accurate representation of professional theatre.” He pulls the receiver away from his face and aims his phone in the direction of Keith, who is now sitting bolt upright on the couch, berating the screen.

            “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING? THAT IS NOT HOW YOU RUN AN AUDITION! WHERE IS YOUR STAGE MANAGER? WHO THE HELL TREATS THEIR MUSIC DIRECTOR LIKE THAT? WHAT KIND OF A SUBURBAN HELLSCAPE IS THIS?!” Having run out of air, Keith curls back against the couch, fingers clamped tight around a pillow held against his chest. Lance fears for that pillow’s life, “ _Disney Channel_ ,” Keith practically _hisses,_ before giving a bizarre gasp-yelp and – “HOW IN THE HELL DID THEY RIG THAT?! NO, NO, AND NO, THAT IS JUST…WHAT THE FUCK?!”

            Lance pulls the phone back to his ear in time to hear Pidge wheezing as she chokes on her laughter.

            “That is the best thing I’ve ever heard. Don’t start the second one until I get there.”

            “Sure thing, boss. I’d better go; it looks like Keith’s about to pop a vein. Or maybe destroy a throw pillow.”

            “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, DISNEY?!”

            “Keith, babe, please remember this is a fictional depiction of _high school_ , Actor’s Equity is not actually a thing in this universe.”

 

 

  1. September



            "I should head back home...” Lance sighs, “but it's cold outside..."

"So just use the dumbwaiter."

"But Pidge's using it."

"So walk."

"It's cold."

"Borrow a scarf." Keith is clearly not getting the message. Lance stands up, walks over to him, stepping in close and placing a gentle hand on either side of his boyfriend’s head.

"Keith. You beautiful, dumb tomato."

"Why am I a tomato?"

Lance is not listening, "When someone says 'I should head back but...insert lame excuse here' _they typically don't want to actually leave_."

Keith blinks like this had honestly not occurred to him. "Lance, would you like to stay the night since apparently the three feet from my door to yours is so unbearably cold despite it only being September that you cannot contemplate going outside?"

"Why yes, Keith, I would,” Lance says, grinning. He drops his hands from Keith’s face and instead loops them around his neck and leans in. They have time.

…

            A few weeks later he moves in for good.

 

 

  1. October



            “Why did you want to watch this movie? You’ve spent the whole thing avoiding the killer shark scenes. _It’s a movie about killer sharks._ ”

            “It’s Halloween,” Lance huffs, face still buried in Keith’s shoulder, which, for the record, is a very muscular and attractive but kind of bony when one’s face is pressed against all its sharp angles. “It’s the time to watch scary movies.”

            “Watch being the operative word here.”

            “I’m watching!”

            “Everything but the shark attacks. In a B-possibly-C-movie about super-smart sharks killing people that’s basically all the extremely lame parts instead of the slightly-less-lame parts.”

            “You’re enjoying it,” Lance’s tone is mildly accusatory.

            “Duh, I like watching CGI sharks chew up dummy versions of mildly famous people. Also Samuel L. Jackson’s death scene was really funny.”

            “You have terrible taste.”

            “You picked the movie.”

            “Ugh, shut up and tell me when the sharks stop chasing Thomas Jane and Saffron Burrows.”

            “That’s basically the plot of the movie. And for the record, I’m totally rooting for the sharks to get Saffron Burrows. Her character’s annoying.”

            “Is LL Cool J at least still alive?”

            “You would know if you watched the movie~” Keith sing-songs annoyingly.

            “Ugh!” Lance sighs dramatically and cuddles closer, “That’s it, I’m spending the rest of the movie clinging to you. Your hotness can keep the sharks at bay.”

            “My hotness and the fact that we’re inland and sharks aren’t actually this bloodthirsty in real life.”

            “Shut up and let me grope you.”

 

  1. November



            “GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE!” Lance shouts and cackles when Keith literally _jumps_ awake, leaping into a crouch on top of the blankets, arms akimbo, eyes scanning the room, searching for a potential threat.

            Keith spots him and groans, flopping onto the blankets face-first. “ _What_ , Lance?” he asks, words muffled by the quilt.

            “Time to pack to go to the Moms’.”

            “What?” Keith turns his face over, putting the absolute least amount of effort into the motion as possible.

            “Um, Thanksgiving?” Lance tips his head to the side, “We talked about this?”

            Keith narrows his eyes. “Wait.”

            “Yeah?”

            “When you asked if I had anything planned for Thanksgiving with my brother and I said ‘no, he’s in California for work’ and you said ‘great, we’ll do a family Thanksgiving’ and I assumed that basically meant doing nothing all weekend here at home…you _actually_ meant…”

            “That we were invited to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving?”

            “Yeeeesss.”

            “Um. Wow. We suck at communication.”

            “Nah. It’s cool,” Keith yawns and blinks sleepily, “It’ll be weird. But it’s cool. I’m going back to sleep now.”

            Lance blinks and shakes himself, like a robot being powered up, “Wait. WaitWaitWaitWait,” he shakes Keith’s shoulder, “Wake up.”

            Keith peels one eye open enough to glare at him, “What.”

            “You’re just _fine_ with me accidentally making plans without your input? Just forcing my big giant family and our ridiculous Thanksgiving crap on you without your… _consent_ or whatever?”

            Keith sighs and shakes off Lance’s hand to sit upright, apparently resigned to being awake. “It’s no big deal.”

            Lance stares at him like he’s some kind of unicorn-Pegasus-hybrid.

            Keith flops his head on Lance’s shoulder because fuck it; if he’s going to have emotional conversations before coffee he’s doing it with a human pillow. “I spent the first fifteen years of my life on the move. When Mom was done with a place she’d just pack up and leave, practically no warning. Last minute plans are nothing compared to that. I’m adaptable. And…” he curls closer and avoids eye contact, dammit, this is hard. He’s not used to talking about his past. His coworkers don’t really ask about it beyond the general ‘where are you from’ questions and Shiro already knows most of it, he lived half of it. They don’t really make a habit of rehashing Keith’s childhood. There’s too much there. So this…this is new. But he wants to try here. He really wants to try. So he takes a deep breath.

“We didn’t really do much for holidays. Mom didn’t, at least. We never had a whole lot of money and we were always on the move. She didn’t talk to her parents,” he laughs, a harsh, dry sound, “They didn’t know I existed until she died and Social Services tracked them down. They didn’t want me.” he drags in a breath, “And Shiro was always with his dad during the school year so the only holidays we had together before Mom died were Fourth of July and Father’s Day – which was fucking weird. He spent Mother’s Day with his dad and Father’s Day with our mom. It was dumb. Anyway, Mom didn’t do much for Thanksgiving or Christmas, none of that family Hallmark stuff anyway. We had a dinky little plastic tree and Chinese food on Christmas and whatever was in the pantry for Thanksgiving. After Shiro got me we tried to do the whole Thanksgiving-Christmas-New-Years thing but I was kind of brat and he didn’t know what he was doing so we just kept it low-key.” Keith sighs, “I guess what I’m saying is I’ve never had the big family holiday thing. And that it’s pretty cool that you want me to be part of yours.”

A drop of something hits his cheek and he scrubs at it, looking up to see Lance looking at him with tears in his eyes.

“Oh come on,” Keith sighs, “You don’t get to tear up at my stupid sob story. It’s not even all that sad – Oof!” The rest of his sentence is lost when Lance tackle-hugs him onto the bed and they go down, Lance on top of him, in a mess of tangled limbs.

“I love you, you sad emo fuck.”

“That is literally the worst version of that sentiment I have ever heard.”

“Shut up, you beautiful lonely duckling.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Please come home with me and let my Mom feed you and play drinking games with my older sisters – one drink every time Mama yells in Spanglish at the football game, two drinks if it’s at one of us – and let my little nieces braid your dumb fluffy hair and my little sisters paint your nails and ask you weird, invasive questions _you do not have to answer_ and ugh, just let my weird family adopt you.”

“I think Shiro would fight you for adoption rights,” Keith mumbles because he can’t think of anything else to say.

“They can keep him too. I like Shiro; Shiro’s a cool dude. Just please come to Thanksgiving dinner and be part of my family and stop being lonely.”

“I’m not lonely, Lance.”

“Not if I can help it,” Lance says decisively, squeezing him even tighter.

Keith sighs and lets a little smile slip through, “So we’re going to your moms’ for Thanksgiving?”

“Yes, and it’s going to be _great_.”

“Sounds good.”

And it does.

 

  1. December



            “Why doesn’t the program have a plot summary?” Keith mutters before the show, “It’s a ballet, there’s a story, isn’t there?”

            Lance shrugs, “I guess they assume everyone knows the Nutcracker story. I mean, the Barbie movie covers it pretty well.”

            “What?” Keith looks at him confused and Lance remembers that Keith possibly grew up under a rock, and probably didn’t have a legion of sisters to bully him into watching cartoon versions of Barbie cavort around Enchanted forests with a menagerie of animal sidekicks.

            “Don’t worry about it. It’s pretty easy to follow.” At least, Lance thinks it is. He’s never put a ton of thought into the actual plot of the Nutcracker before. It’s sort of like a lucid dream – it makes sense when you’re in the middle of it but you couldn’t really think too hard about it outside of it’s context.

            He sneaks a look at Keith out of the corner of his eye.

            Keith is _definitely_ going to over-think the Nutcracker.

            Lance opens his program and focuses on finding all the places his little sisters’ and nieces’ names come up. He can deal with his boyfriend’s head exploding later.

…

            At intermission Keith looks him dead in the eye and says, “That mouse king is _fucked up_.”

            Lance chokes on a laugh and channels all his restrained mirth into swatting Keith on the arm, “Don’t swear, this is a family show.”

            “I thought that mask was creepy in our living room. It’s creepier on stage.”

            “Well that’s true,” Lance admits. He was very happy to return that particular costume piece.

            “And I still don’t know what’s going on.”

            “Don’t think too hard about it.”

            Keith gives him a blank look.

            Oh boy.

…

            “But _why_ ,” Keith is still trying to figure out the plot of the Nutcracker as they make their way down to the lobby to greet Lance’s little sisters and nieces, “Why did _any_ of that _happen_?”

            “You’re really hung up on making the Nutcracker makes sense.”

            “It baffles me.”

            “You know what, babe, I’m gonna do you a favor. You’re not going to think it’s a favor but if it will keep you from fixating on the Nutcracker’s plot holes for the rest of December, I’ll count it as a win.”

            Before Keith can protest or ask Lance what he’s talking about, two five-year-old balls of pure energy collide with their legs. “Uncle Lance, Uncle Lance, did you see? Did you see?”

            “I saw, I saw,” he parrots back at them, “You were lovely; Keith agrees. But you know, _mijas_ , Keith has _never ever_ seen the Barbie Nutcracker movie.”

            “Never _ever_?” the twins repeat, in sync.

            “I think you should show it to him when we get back to Grandma and Abuelita’s house.”

            “Yes! Yes! Yes!” they cheer and Lance glances back to see Keith’s rigor mortis smile and sharp look of _what have you gotten me into_?

            Lance laughs, “I’ll even watch it with you guys.”

            That appeases Keith somewhat, but he’s apparently not counting on the fact that Lance will now know his every microscopic reaction to Barbie’s surprisingly heartwarming quest.

            This is what you get for trying to understand the Nutcracker.

 

 

+1 New Year’s Eve

            “I gave up on shoveling the driveway,” Lance calls as he trudges inside, “More snow just fills in the places I shovel. It’s depressing.” He blinks. “Why is it dark inside? Did we lose power? Fuck, we had better not have lost power again, it’s a fucking blizzard out there. Keith? Are you home? Are you dead? Because there’s really nowhere you could go in this weather…” he turns the corner into the kitchen and stops dead.

            The kitchen is full of light and cheer and Pidge is sitting on the counter, trying to stealthily take apart their blender while Hunk does something, possibly witchcraft, at the stove that produces some sort of amazing smell while Keith, hair dusted with flour, slices into steaming loaves of homemade bread.

            “What the…” Lance trails off, gaping at his friends.

            “Oh, good, hello Lance,” Allura sticks her head out of the pantry, “I was helping Hunk and Pidge – apparently Matt needed rescuing? Something to do with a igloo?”

            “It was a quinzee,” Matt sighs. Lance turns to see him climb in through the dumbwaiter, clad in one of Hunk’s extra sweaters…which looks like a tent on his beanpole body, “Quinzees are piles of snow that have been hollowed out. Igloos are constructed from blocks of snow.”

            “We had to rescue Matt because he’s an idiot who decides to try living in a snowpile for three days to prove he can or something equally dumb,” Pidge clarifies, looking up from her half-deconstructed blender.

            “It was in my backyard,” Matt huffs, “I wasn’t going to die.”

            “It partially caved in. Hunk, Allura, and Keith had to dig you out.”

            “Okay, so maybe it’s not the most structurally sound dwelling in a snowstorm.”

            “I had to give them detailed instructions to avoid accidentally bringing it down on top of you when they dug you out.” Pidge says, narrowing her eyes irritably at Matt, who seems untroubled by the whole ordeal.

            “Anyway,” Allura claps her hands, “We rescued Matt and drove back to Hunk and Pidge’s since Matt’s house keys were lost in the snowdrift.”

            “I still think Pidge and I could have broken in without tripping his security system,” Keith mutters.

            “Let’s not add ‘housebreaking’ to your resume just yet,” Allura says cheerily, “And Lance, Keith mentioned you were snowed in and couldn’t drive out to your parents’ place for New Years –”

            Keith coughs awkwardly and, holy shit, are his ears turning _pink_? Lance, who had been fully prepared to be generally grumpy and cantankerous this evening, feels something akin to warmth bubble up in his chest.

            “Um. You seemed really…down about not getting out to your moms’ and doing all your News Eve family traditions with everyone,” Keith says, not looking at Lance, laser-focused on the bread he is slicing with far more attention and precision than bread ever calls for, “And I figured, even if you couldn’t have New Years’ with your family _there,_ maybe…we could do something with our family here?”

            The warm something in Lance’s chest positively _explodes_. “I freaking love you guys. All of you, just, you’re all special and magical and I love you all a really embarrassing amount but Keith’s officially and forever my favorite.”

            Keith sneaks a look at him and Lance takes the opportunity to grab his stupid handsome face and kiss him. “Love you, babe.”

            “I know.”

            “Quit Han-Solo-ing me!”

            Keith grins and sets his scary bread knife down and leans in, kissing him back, deeper and softer than before. “I love you too.”

            “There, was that so hard? No, don’t answer that, I don’t need your sass!”

            Keith laughs and they all gather in the kitchen to eat Hunk’s amazing food and welcome the New Year together. At some point, between the appetizers and the champagne and actual dinner, Keith leans into Lance’s side and whispers, “Did I get it right?”

            Lance, grinning from ear to ear, turns and kisses his forehead, “You got it exactly right, babe.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title from 'Home' by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes...again...I have no excuse. I promise I listen to other songs sometimes. 
> 
> ...At some point Shiro will show up as more than a name-drop, I swear...


End file.
